Weight of the World
by anyonebutpatrick
Summary: Time is running out for Dean W, whose contacts lead him to PC, where a killer has taken 3 lives. Deals will be made, lives will be lost, passion found as the call of hell-hounds echo in the streets
1. Chapter 1

Home. She knows that's where she should be. Holding her uncle when the cracks finally begin to show in his otherwise calm facade. Refereeing the war between her cousin & ex-aunt. Cataloging all the hallmark cards so they know who to send the thank-you cards to. She should be putting away the food that everyone seemed to think would somehow balance out the life that was stolen. She should be doing all those things . . . any of those things. But she's not. She can't seem to move, has seemingly forgotten the monotony associated with life's many losses. She's tired of it all, tired of being the rock everyone needs to lean on, tired of being the support that lifts everyone else out of their fog. Where was her rock to lean on, her support to pick her up when all she felt like doing was curling herself into a ball and crying herself to sleep.

"Hit me again Coleman, baby," she motions the bartender with a crook of her finger and he wanders over with the rest of the bottle, though he seems hesitant about pouring the shot for her.

"Any chance I can talk you into a cab tonight, short stuff?" he asks with a weak smile even as he pours her the shot she feels like her body is desperately craving. He knew she was heading for a fall, he'd seen the signs many times before. This was the first he'd seen them in her though-she had always seemed too strong for it to happen to her.

"No. No cabs. No friends offering their condolences . No ex-boyfriends who don't want you to move on, but want to fuck anyone they feel like," she declared, slamming the shot back, before reaching for the saltshaker & lime so neatly cut in front of her.

A decent, caring young woman is dead. A woman who should have been in the world long after she left it. A young woman, who had been due some happiness, after having spent so much of her life struggling for some sense of stability, some sense of peace. She was gone in a flash-taken against her will, against what seemed to be the very laws of nature. Of all the people the world had taken, why her? Why did it feel like the good people in Port Charles received nothing but pain, while the bad flourished? A brief burst of nervous laughter escaped. Deep down she had always suspected that this was a city with no hope.

He knew he was in serous trouble. Warning bells had gone off in his head as he'd first entered & scanned the dive for any potential troublemakers. It was her legs that had caught his eye first, and as his eyes traveled upward, he could feel a low hum spreading through his body. He wanted her. He had no doubt that it would be an all-night adventure & a very large part of him wanted to give into the building desire as he always had before. But he had curiously stopped, allowed it to build with no sign of relief. Because even across the room, he could feel the unbearable sense of agony that seemed to surround her, a cloud of pain that engulfed her very being. It gave him pause as nothing else could, the sense that here was a woman who had faced loss. He had known what that was like three times in his life. So he had given her space & sauntered up to the bar to await Coleman.

"Hey man, thanks for waiting. Got a tough cookie on my hands-know what I'm sayin," Coleman affected his typical cocky grin, but it never quite reached his eyes

"No problem. Besides-the beer's on you," he advised with a soft chuckle as he finished downing it in the blink of an eye.

"Winchesters. Never could turn down a free beer," Coleman said good-naturedly as he popped the tops on two more and passed one over to the man.

"Hmm, or a free . . . "

"Hey now-ladies present," Coleman interrupted with a nod to the young woman seated at the end of the bar. "Even if she's too drunk to notice your rotten language.

Her soft sob as she reached for the tequila bottle Coleman had placed in front of her caught both of their attention. He watched in amazement as the gruff bartender stalked purposely over to her. A tug-of-war for the bottle quickly ensued. To his further surprise, she won. Of course, it was AFTER a vicious argument of quite a few nasty Italian curses were flung around. She held her own and then some. He shook his head as he watched Coleman slice a lime, put it in front of her and wander back to him, muttering under his breath about "damned stubborn women."

"Coleman? Coleman, focus," he snapped his fingers in front of the man who just could not seem to let it go. It never used to matter to him what happened to his patrons as long as they paid their tabs and kept their mouths shut about his extra-curricular activities.

"Sorry man. She's in a bad way-actually part of the reason I called you boys. 'Cept you showed alone. Where's Sam? It wasn't that Coleman was a nosy man by nature. It was that he knew bad things tended to happen when the Winchester boys split up.

"Sammy got one of his freaky psychic vibes passing the cemetery. Said something there was calling," a visible shudder went through him as he said the words and it was then he noticed the woman at the end of the bar pausing in the midst of taking a shot. What did she know about why they had been called to this town?

Damnit Dean, you know better . . . " the bartender hissed forcing Dean to turn his focus from the woman back to his conversation.

"Spare me the lecture ok. Just tell me what big bad we've got to face?" Dean told him, his comfort level diminishing as he realized that maybe she was like him. Maybe she had risked it all on a throw of the die and lost more than he expected.

"Three women have been strangled to death. Two other attempts that we know of, " Coleman explained lowering his voice in hopes she wouldn't hear, but Dean knew it was too late. She was already listening avidly to them both.

"People kill each other every day," Dean attempted to explain it away.

"More like every ten minutes in this tow. It's like a black hole-sucks the life right out of you," Robin responded to him, because she couldn't not. Georgie had been stolen from her family and Robin knew without question that she was going to have to deal with it.

"Lady-that describes just about every city in America," he told her, couldn't help telling her the truth. Evil was everywhere, just waiting to get the jump on the good guys.

As he watched, she took the final shot of tequila straight, before upturning the glass. As she glided towards him, he couldn't help but think there was no way a woman who drank that much could be that graceful. She stopped in front of him, stole his beer before he could say a word. Forget trouble, he was screwed with a capital S. She took a gulp as he watched, pulling a picture out of her back pocket without a word. His gaze lingered there for a brief moment, but then she had flipped the photo over. Dean stared at the photo; he'd only seen that kind of innocence on one other face. His brother had that innocence, that faith. He couldn't help but wonder if he still had it.

"The final victim. My Cousin," she whispered softly, allowing the pain to overwhelm her anew.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but I don't see . . . "

"The only clue points to a dead man."

As the launch battles the waves on the way to Spoon Island, he's struck by how wrong it all feels. From the moment he woke up to find her gone, his world had shattered beyond repair. And when she had come back to him so soon after saying that last good-bye, he had thought it a miracle. It had renewed his faith in the power of their bond, that it had survived even death itself. In the end, that faith hadn't been able to stand against the truth. The love of his life was gone and she was never coming back to him.

As his feet pounded on the docks, he felt the rage come over him-his own particular brand of demon merely a medically induced event. Rages and seizures-cured by a few drugs that took her from him as well. He felt the loss as keenly as he did the first time. Except, now he wasn't the only one who had lost someone. And he knew she would need a friend. She couldn't exactly rely on the bastard who seemed determined to screw everyone foolish enough to spread their legs for anything remotely resembling comfort.

"Master Nikolas-someone to see you sir," Alfred advised even as he opened the study doors in order to allow him admittance.

And there she stood. The same as always. Except . . . she shouldn't be here anymore. And the rage at the loss came roaring through his blood once again. With a look he sent Alfred fleeing and he went to her-grabbing her arm, so angry he wanted to hurt her. Because she wasn't the one he wanted. And he knew in his heart, the woman he loved wasn't coming back. The illusion was just that and he couldn't bear to live with the lie any longer.

"Easy there big fella. You called me remember," the brunette, offered him a wink even as she flashed him the muzzle of her gun.

My apologies. You reminded me of someone. . " He released her without any qualms before walking over to the sifter of brandy.

"Your fiancé? News travels fast. My . . . condolences," she replied, retrieving her glass from him, having watched closely as he poured.

"Please. I'm many things, but not a fool," he informed her, even as he took a gulp. It didn't escape his notice that she drank from her glass only after he himself did.

"One hears all sorts of things about your family. Better to be safe than dead," she said taking note of his interest in her drinking habits. She wasn't going to apologize for guarding her life. She wasn't going to hell one minute before she was ready.

"Let's put it all in the open the, shall we Bella? And just so you're aware, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't even see them coming," Nikolas informed her as he downed the rest of his glass. As he deliberately invaded her space, he could a

lmost hear generations of Cassadines chanting his name.

"As it hadn't happened yet, I assume you need me. The question is, what for?" she asked even as she followed suit, setting down the empty glass when she was through even as she resisted the urge to sigh in relief as he backed away.

"You are a retriever, are you not? You find things that are . . . lost?" he offered as he moved over to his desk to open one of the drawers.

"For a price," she reminded him, slightly off-put when he laughed in response. People weren't supposed to find her work amusing-which reminded her of the one man who hadn't seemed the least threatened by her at all.

"Nothing ever comes without a price," he said even as he handed her the photograph of the item he required reclaiming.

"A dagger? You want me to find you a dagger?" she scoffed, looking up from the photo with a look of incredulity.

"It's important to my family. Find it. Bring it to me and you'll get your money. Now get out," he told her, pouring himself a secondary drink as he watched her shake her head.

"Why?"

"Go!" he yelled causing her to flinch before she turned on her heel and stalked off. As he brought the glass to his lips, he paused-he could almost see Emily in front of him now, almost taste her tears. The glass dropped to the ground with a shatter. How was he supposed to survive without her?

"How on earth did you manage to suck me into doing something so idiotic. My fingers are numb from holding this box and my heels keep sinking into the gravel. What the hell are we doing her you scrawny little doofus?" Maxie demanded even as she watched Spinelli dig the small hole in the middle of the dark intersection.

She had no clue what had possessed her to leave the warmth of her home with this ugly freak, but whatever it was-she wished it would have worn off closer to Port Charles. She wouldn't be freezing in the middle of nowhere with a serial killer on the loose and her only protection this pathetic excuse for a man.

"The jackal will explain all when ready, if the bad blonde one will indulge him by handing over the box belonging to wise Georgie," he asked holding out his palms even as he stared at her plaintively.

Maxie looked down at the small ornate box that had once belonged to her sister. It had been one of many gifts sent to them front Paris, although, they would've both preferred their cousin to the material possessions . . . at least Georgie had. Maxie had been too busy squealing with delight at the latest designer duds Robin had been able to procure via Brenda Barrett. Inside the box was the one of the rings Mariah had passes down to the sisters as part of their parent's legacy, the one that had brought them together in the first place. Perhaps, Mariah had suspected that if she had been given the ring instead, she would have thrown it away. She would've been incorrect, Maxie humphed; she would've hocked it at a pawnshop. There was also a first-edition Pride & Prejudice that Mac had found for Georgie in high school-Maxie couldn't have even bothered with the mini-series, though she conceded she might have watched the version that had just come out. And then there was the half-finished screen-play that she had been working on when she had been killed, probably just some silly love-story, Maxie had no doubt. Last, but not least, the picture of Georgie in her elf-costume from last year-she had been willing to go even though she and Dillon had been having problems-Lulu problems.

"Be careful, " Maxie warned as she reluctantly turned the box over to him. She watched as he buried the box in the gravel and stood-offering her a hopeful grin. Maxie rolled her eyes again wondering why she gave up her spot in front of the warm fireplace for the frigid night.

"Good evening," the soft tones had both Maxie and Spinelli turning, the latter with a startled "eep". The two exchanged a look, neither quite sure what to make of the figure appearing before them.

"Isn't it past your bed-time little girl?" Maxie snarked, rolling her eyes at the small young blond girl standing in front of them.

"You really shouldn't play with powers you don't understand," the little girl spoke, offering a wider grin as she took in the sight of them both.

"Ugh, how very children of the corn. Come on Spinelli-once again, you've wasted a woman's time," Maxie huffed, turning from both of them in order to get her sister's box because no way was she leaving it for the demon-seed.

"I can bring her back to you, if you want her badly enough," the little girl told them, her tones reflecting in an almost singsong fashion. It only served to freak Maxie out even more.

"Georgie's gone-there's no bringing her back so you should keep your smart mouth shut," Maxie hissed at the little girl, taking an aggressive step towards her. The little girl merely tilted her head at the two of them in response.

"She doesn't have to be. I can give her back to you. For a price," the little girl continued whispering to them both even as she seemed to glide towards them.

"You! You're the crossroads demon of which the jackal has read? He finds it difficult to believe that one so young could be that which he and the bad blonde one seek." Spinelli used the brief lull the girl's revelations provided to jump into the conversation.

"God-English oh-dorkified one," Maxie half-yelled at him as the young girl's eyes rolled until the whites were visible. A wave of pure heat engulfed them both quickly, fading just as fast. A startled Maxie swatted at the still burning embers of her jacket before ripping it off and throwing it to the ground. Just as she did, the jacket ignited, disintegrating before her very eyes.

"Do I have your attention now?" the young girl spoke to them, her voice suddenly louder, rippling with unspoken strength as two horrified gazes collided with her once again normal-looking eyes.

"Y-You can bring her back? Alive?" Maxie asked hesitantly, her eyes glancing briefly to her still smoldering jacket, a prototype for a famous designer's fall line, not merely ashes.

"She will be exactly as you left her," the little girl informed them both, a queer smile on her lips clearing Spinelli's befuddled mind, if only for a moment.

"The jackal suggests caution should be taken," Spinelli stammered to Maxie, grabbing a hold of Maxie's shirtsleeve when the girl's eyes narrowed on him.

"What do you get out of it?" Maxie demanded to know even as she wrenched free of Spinelli's grasp. This was her sister they were speaking about. No way was some freaky mojo gonna come between her and the way to bring her sister back to life-not if she could help it

"Five years. I will come and you will not be able to refuse me-anything, not even your life should I choose to ask it of you," the little girl offered. "If you do, she dies. If you double-cross me-she dies."

"Done" Maxie sealed her fate without a second thought. After all, five years was a long time. A lot of things could happen in the time between now and then.

"Very well. A life taken, a life given. You sister is returned to you. She will be exactly where you left her." The demon laughed as she vanished-her cackle resonating in the air around the two of them as it began to dawn on them both, exactly what they had done. It was only then, that they started to run


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He had always been a man of quiet faith. Though his brother had never understood his reasoning, his faith had remained in tact as they faced the demons of this world. It had not wavered when the yellow-eyed demon had cut down the woman he loved. Nor had it shattered when his father had chosen to sacrifice himself to save his brother. But as the clock ticked away the time Dean Winchester had left in the world, Sam couldn't help but feel it chipping away at his faith as well. The Winchesters had done a lot of good in the world and what had they gotten in return? Only pain: only death. And suffering. Where the hell was all the so-called karma that was supposed to be coming back to them for all the lives they saved? When was it their time to rest, to have some peace? Day after day, they fought the good fight and the universe just couldn't seem to cut them any slack.

As he walked through the Port Charles cemetery, he forced himself to answer the question that had just recently begun to percolate in the recesses of his mind. Was he really gonna stand by while the universe ripped another person he loved from him? Was he really going to do nothing while hell-hounds dragged his brother to hell? And if not, how far was he willing to go to save his brother from spending eternity in damnation? What was he really willing to do to ensure that Dean wasn't taken from him as well. _See, we're not so different, you & I._ Hearing the insidious whisper, Sam fingered the colt sticking out of the back of his pants. As he touched the cold steel, he forced himself to acknowledge one truth. He had the key to the gates of hell. All he had to do was open the door. The question was whether Dean would come walking out. They'd let hundreds of demons out last summer as well as their own father. The only difference was, the demons were still wandering around and John Winchester was not. What had made their father different? And would Dean even be willing to consider the idea at all?

As he turned the question over in his mind, he felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. A faint stirring in his mind had him whirling around-the colt in hand before he thought of anything else. Darkness stared back at him. No one was there. Cautiously, Sam stepped forward. The stirring grew louder. Convinced he was on to something, he began walking, listening as the sound grew in volume and using it to hone onto where it was coming from. He used it as a beacon to guide him through the darkened cemetery, ever expectant of what could potentially lurk behind and beneath the tombstones even as he made his way between them. He couldn't help but think that now would be a good time for his mojo to come back, even as he knew he should be grateful it hadn't. His gift had a price; he knew this as surely as he knew his brother would die if he couldn't save him. The sound grew as he crept closer until _finally_ he could make out words. _Help me. Somebody please help me._

It was then, he started to run, colt in hand weaving in and out of the tombstones until the screaming reached a crescendo at the gravestone of one Georgie Jones. Sam fell to his knees, shoving the colt back in his pants. He dug fast, his hands throwing the dirt behind him even as he felt the stirring begin to soften. It was then fear set in, the emotion absolute and pure. Someone had been buried alive and every second she stayed locked in the earth meant he could lose her. _Just like you're going to lose Dean Sammy boy. _He could almost hear yellow eyes taunting him, whispering in his ears a truth he knew he wasn't ready to face. He remembered Dean, deathly pale in his hospital bed, unable or unwilling to wake up.

"No, no, no NO!. I won't lose you. I won't!" Sam yelled into the night sky, a sound so primal, he could hear nearby dogs whimpering in fear even as he felt a rush of power take himself over that was all his own.

Sam rose to his feet, allowing the power to move within him, building and building as the ground around him began to shake. Like a sudden updraft, six feet of dirt rose, blowing Sam's hair in every direction as it passed by him. The dirt fell to the ground surrounding the casket even as Sam's head began to throb. The coffin lid cracked in a centerline, the pieces clattering one to each side. And the power began to recede as he started at two terrified chocolate eyes. She started so intensely at him; he didn't even register the trickle of blood running out of his nose. He didn't think, merely leapt into the open grave as she slowly rose to meet him.

"It's okay, you're all right. You're safe now," he whispered to her reaching for her even as she reached for him. Sam pulled the petite woman out of the coffin even as she wrapped her body around his, burying her face in his neck.

It was then he heard them. Gut wrenching sobs erupting from her throat so violent; her whole body shook with the force of them. And he didn't know what he should do. He didn't know how to even begin helping her, couldn't even imagine what he could do to comfort her. And he couldn't help but think-that could have been him, waking up in a small dark box, unable to move, unsure of what was going on. Instead of waking up to fresh air and light, he could've been her. He couldn't imagine how horrible it must have seemed to this small young woman, to go from nothingness to consciousness so rapidly and to find herself alone. He recognized what his thoughts implied. Someone had woken her up. Someone had made a deal.

"Well, I have to admit you're talking my language. What've you got that suggests something that goes bump in the night?" Dean asked with a soft smile, even as he acknowledged the young woman who had lost her life. Experience told him to tread carefully around her, it didn't help that the grief emanating from her gave him the urge to hold her in his arms-to comfort her. There must've been something in the beer, he decided.

"A print, right where the bastard posed her," Robin broke off with a growl, reaching for the tequila bottle again. This time, she just lifted the bottle itself, taking a gulp before slamming it back down on the bar with a thud.

"Okay, Coleman, can we get a cup of coffee for Mrs. . . . ." Dean started, picking up the bottle to hand it over to Coleman and keep it beyond her shaking hands.

"It's Scorpio, Robin Scorpio. And I don't want any damn caffeine. I want my cousin back and the son of a bitch who did this sent straight back to hell where he belongs," she hissed, snapping her fingers and holding her hand out imperiously for the bottle. Coleman glanced from her to Dean who was shaking his head and, feeling a bit more secure with someone watching his back (he still remembered her kicking his ass with a pool stick), he moved it further out of her reach.

"You need to sober up doc," he advised with a sympathetic grin, putting a cup of his finest brew in front of her. "This is one fight you ain't gonna win with a fifth of tequila in you."

"Shows how much you know," Robin snorted, though she took the cup from him and sipped it. She set the cup back down with a grimace. "I'm a Scorpio-we could drink a case of the stuff and our aim wouldn't move an inch. But this sludge right here would taste a hell of a lot better Irished up, if you know what I mean."

"I'll wager anything tastes better with a little Irish in it," Dean told her with a sardonic laugh as he motioned for Coleman to pour him a cup. He moved Robin's cup closer to he with the push of a finger. "Bottoms up, doc. I've only got one other way to sober you up, but something tells me, it'd take too long to get you in the mood, the way things are now."

"You know, if this were any other day I might just have kicked your ass for that," Robin confessed as she took another sip of her coffee. She set her cup down as Dean reached for her hand. He wrapped his fingers around her palm, sliding his thumb across the top of her hand. She sucked in a breath and risked a glance at the enigmatic man standing before her. If it had been Patrick, she would have expected another lame come-on attempt followed in succession by a dig at her personality. This man offered her neither, merely picked up his cup of coffee and pretended it was the most interesting coffee in the world-at least to him. It occurred to her then what he was doing . . . . . giving her time, giving her space. It had been a long time since a man had done either for her. She gave his hand a brief squeeze and he released her.

"It's never easy, watching someone you love die," he admitted to her softly. A sudden pounding caused her to jump, a nearby knife in her hand before he could calm her nerves. "Easy there tiger, it's just my brother calling."

"Dude-'Enter the sandman' as a ring tone-seriously?" Coleman spoke up with a shake of his head even as Dean reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out to show Robin who slowly released the knife, even though she kept it within range of her hands.

"Talk to me Sammy, what'd those vibes give you?" Dean asked his brother even as he watched Robin drink more of the "sludge" Coleman had given them both.

"I was right about the cemetery and I'm thinking it's not JUST the cemetery, but this whole freakin town," Sam told him even as he held the shivering young woman-he'd given up trying to dislodge her from his side and he couldn't help but wonder why she was so scared to be back home when it hadn't even registered to him that he had been gone?

"Hell. What'd you find and what'd it take it kill it?" Dean asked even as he slid off the stool, his movements so sudden they surprised Robin who merely opted to follow his lead.

"It's not that Dean. I-someone made a deal here, brought this kid back to life," he told Dean even as he recognized he was holding something back. _What Dean doesn't know won't kill him . . . . . yet._ Sam unconsciously started to rub his forehead. Dean didn't really need to know what he'd done. It wasn't relevant.

"The crossroads demon?" Dean almost growled the words. The truth was he had been itching to get another shot at the bitch-even though he knew killing her wouldn't change a goddamn thing. The temptation had whispered in his mind, so subtle he was still able to catch the way Robin Scorpio's eyes shot to his at the mention of the demon's name.

"Someone came back? Who? Who came back Dean? Please, I need to know!" Robin moved so close to him they were almost touching. If it were any other woman this close to him . . . . . but he could hear the desperation in her voice, could see the fear in her eyes, for what he wasn't certain.

"I need a name Sam," Dean told his brother, his words harsher than he intended, but for some reason this petite woman's fear seems infectious, at least it was for him.

"Don't be a dick, Dean. Name on the tombstone says Georgie Jones, but I can't guarantee she's the woman holding onto me for dear life, you know," Sam gave the attitude right back to his brother, though he thought better of it when the young woman he held flinched at the anger in his tone. Her wrapping sobs had long since dissipated, but who knew what could set them off again.

"Dickwad," Dean called him albeit with an overly affectionate bent, before his eyes turned to rest on Robin. He offered her an almost gentle smile, garnering a wide-eyed look from Coleman who he chose to ignore-just because he could. "The name on the tombstone's Georgie . . . . Georgie J . ."

"Oh MY GOD," the words burst from Robin's lips even as her eyes grew wide. Before she could even consider the consequences, she reached over and yanked the phone out of Dean's hands.

"Dude," Coleman snorted.

"I know," Dean snapped back.

"Twice?" Coleman laughed

"I know!," Dean growled at him.

"Where are you? How does she look? Is she breathing alright? Has she said anything about who killed her? Well . . . . Say something for God's sake!" Robin spoke rapidly, firing each question in succession even as she grabbed her coat and started heading for the door. Dean followed quickly after, but still managed to get the door slammed in his face. For a little thing, she moved fast, he thought, with a final look at Coleman before walking into the night.

"Listen lady, I don't know who you are, so you need to put my brother back on the phone . . . . . NOW." Sam told her softly, even as he felt the energy begin to build in him. If something happened to Dean now . . . . no one would be able to stop the rage from taking over. _Good._

"That girl you've got in your arms is my cousin pal. My family, my heart and soul. If anything happens to her now . . ." Robin replied softly to him, yet Dean could hear the steel behind the words even as he approached her. She stood beside a blue 2007 mustang, her handbag open as she dug in it for her keys. Damn the woman, she had good taste in cars . . .. and parking spots as he cleared his throat to turn her towards HIS ride. He took advantage of her shock to remove his cell-phone from her hands. "Oh good Lord."

"Sammy, we're on our way. Keep the girl safe."

"Goes without sayin Dean," Sammy told him as the bothers both hung up their phones. Dean gave Robin his best "care for a ride" smile and opened his car door for her.

"Ladies first . . . . always has been my motto," he told her even as she raised her eyebrows at him. She gave her mustang a pointed look before turning to the black Impala. "When you're sober, I'll let you take me for a ride."

"How fast can you drive," she asked skeptically, even as she slid into the passenger side of the metallic monstrosity.

"I'll go as fast . . . . or as slow as you want me to," he told her softly, even as he shut the door on her stunned look. As he moved to the driver's side, he shook his head, wondering what the hell he was doing following his baser instinct. Any man who had eyes could see this was not a one-night-stand kind of woman, and sadly, that was all a man like him was worth these days. Opening the door, he sat down and slammed the door behind him. The car groaned to life even as Bon Jovi blasted to life on the stereo. He saw Robin reach for the stereo and grabbed her wrist. "Driver picks the music."

"And the passenger deals with it?" she fired back, even as he released her hand. Dean turned back to the road, putting the car in gear, even as Robin surreptitiously turned the volume down.

The bad blonde one was going to get him killed. The jackal realized this even as he clutched the car door for dear life as Maxie took another sharp turn. Glancing over at the speedometer, he wasn't surprised to find the car was going 75 miles per hour. The speed limit was only 35, but the jackal didn't dare mention her driving skills again, having already gotten himself smacked upside the head for even mentioning that she might be breaking the law. Granted, the vehicle did belong to Stone Cold who would most assuredly get them out of any law enforcement binds, but he dreaded the conversation they would end up having as a result.

"What in the hell was I thinking letting a pathetic doofus like you talk me into going 45 minutes away from her in this freezing weather?" Maxie sniped, having spent the last 30 minutes alternating between cursing Spinelli and the car she almost side-swiped the curb with, she was clearly running out of insults.

"The pages were specific as to where the jackal and the bad blonde one needed to be in order to get wise Georgie back," Spinelli reminded her even as he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the gates of the town's cemetery looming in the distance.

"Did your bloody research happen to mention me having to sell my soul for her?" Maxie snapped back, taking turn so sharply, Spinelli hit his head on the window beside him.

"The jackal realizes he may have made a slight error in judgment with regards to . . . ." he began, but fell silent as the oppressive arches of the Port Charles cemetery came into view.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the entrance, Maxie flying out of the door without even bothering to turn off the engine. Spinelli did just that even as he glanced around cautiously. Sliding the keys into his pocket, he opened the car door and removed himself from the vehicle, careful not to slam his car door. Fog swirled around the cemetery, thickening even as he crept towards the entrance. He looked furtively around for the grieving sister, but she seemed to have vanished, her petite frame absorbed by the very air in the place.

"M-M-Maxie?" he called quietly, his fear causing him to slip out of the carefully crafted character he had created for himself in his own mind. Shapes began to form within the fog as he moved within its grasp, until finally he could make out two forms. As he inched closer, he realized his mistake.

"Listen pal, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you better let go of my sister. My father's the police commissioner in this town . . . . ." Maxie ranted at the stranger who held her sister so closely, they seemed to be intertwined. She rolled her eyes as she caught Spinelli moving towards her-he was utterly use-less. She reached over to pull her sister from the stranger's grasp . . . . . . . only Georgie seemed to shrink from her. "Georgie . . . . . . . it's me. It's Maxie."

Sam could feel her shivering at his side, though he knew it wasn't from the cold. The obnoxious blond had come out of no-where so fast he'd almost pulled the colt on her, thinking she was the crossroads demon-even though he knew it was absurd. After all, he'd killed the bitch himself. She felt warm by his side, her small hands burrowing underneath his shirt to touch his skin. He could only imagine the horror she must have felt to wake up in the dark, cold space without her loved ones by her side. But it seemed as though these two knew her, the raging blonde and the morose young man who now stood beside her. But, they were scaring the young woman he'd decided was under his protection and he couldn't have that.

"Why isn't she answering me? What the hell did you do to her you . . . . ." Maxie continued on, oblivious to the anger that began to burn in Sam's eyes. Spinelli saw it though and attempted to put a restraining arm on her which she subsequently shook off.

"Enough!" Sam roared at her with enough force that both Maxie and Spinelli stepped back from him. Even as he glared at them, he saw his brother running up to him with a petite brunette easily keeping pace. They skidded to a halt beside the other two as Sam turned his icy gaze towards the new-comer.

Dean saw the rage in his brother's eyes and gasped. He saw the fury, saw it now directed at Robin and moved to place her behind his protection. Of course, he wasn't surprised when she merely moved around him, throwing an absent-minded frown his way, but nonetheless moving slowly over to Sam and the young woman in his arms. He easily kept pace with her, wishing now that he hadn't given the colt to Sam. His instincts were flagging a major warning at him where his brother was concerned. He had a hunch Sammy hadn't been completely honest with him about how he had managed to save this young woman's new life. Another secret. There always seemed to be secrets between them these days.

Robin moved slowly over to the man she had spoken to on Dean's phone. She watched both he and her young cousin closely, almost certain that any sudden move may set either or both of them off. Her eyes took them both in. They were both covered head to toe in filth. Both seemed almost wild. As Robin processed that, her eyes caught a glimpse of Georgie's hands and she sucked in a breath. Raw, bloody and broken finger-tips. She closed her eyes briefly, before slowly reaching out her hand to the shivering young woman. No wonder. She ran her finger-tips slowly over the young woman's face, even as sympathy filled her eyes.

"You were supposed to wait for me Spinelli," Robin said softly, as she turned to the young computer genius. There was a steel to her voice that was unmistakable even to the socially inept computer nerd.

"And you should have told me," Maxie answered for Spinelli, causing Robin to turn to her. "She's my sister. I had a right!"

"And this? This is what you wanted? Your sister . . . . . . waking up cold in a dark place, having to claw her way to freedom. This is what you wanted!" Robin lashed out at the young woman in a fury, her hand pointing at Georgie, daring the two to see what they had done."

"We . . . . . we didn't realize . . ." Maxie began an attempt to justify.

"You didn't THINK!" Robin roared, causing Spinelli to flinch and move closer to Maxie even as Maxie stood her ground. The six stood in silence, Sam caressing Georgie's back gently, almost soothingly. Robin ran a hand through her hair, her movements halting.

"How long? How long did they give you," the question came from Dean, his gaze as intent as Robin's was cold. He could feel the wave of anguish that came from Robin, and known the same grief when his brother had died in his arms.

"Five years . . . . ." Maxie said softly as Robin sucked in a breath. "It . . . . . .it's okay. It . . . . . a lot can happen in five years. "L-look at you."

Five years. Five years. Robin couldn't even imagine knowing the exact date of her death. It was always out there, a question mark. Every morning, she woke and wondered-_Is this going to be the day? Will the meds fail me today?_ She spent most of her youth after the day the test came back positive expecting to die. Waiting to die. If she had known then, would it have changed anything? Would she have made different choices? Would she have been a different person? Five years. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to lose them first.

"It wasn't supposed to be you," Robin whispered softly, grabbing her cousin and wrapping her arms around the younger woman. Tears came readily to her eyes, but she blinked them away. Strong. She had to be strong.

"It doesn't have to be HER," a voice hissed from the shadows of the whirling fog. They all turned towards the sound, Sam colt in hand. The fog parted ominously, as if even it refused to touch the figure within. A young man, slithered out into the open, his black hair slicked back, his blue eyes as cold as death. He smiled. "So lovely to see you again, miss Scorpio."


End file.
